


Castle in the Clouds

by Kharnesh



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Amorality, Gun Safety, Guns, Sniper Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 00:28:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8123530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kharnesh/pseuds/Kharnesh
Summary: There are no rules of architecture for a castle in the clouds.  - Gilbert K. ChestertonHis father gave him rules, but Stiles was not made for such things.





	

One had to wonder why there were so many abandoned factories and warehouses in Beacon Hills, but that wasn't really what Stiles was thinking about as he climbed up the side of the now empty Jimmy Jam's Jazzy Jellies packaging plant. He was mostly thinking about not being dragged down by the heavy duffel bag he had slung over his shoulder, and the hunters who had taken Derek and Lydia prisoner in the old Sally Keen's Kitschy Cough Syrup warehouse just next door.

He got to the roof of the Jimmy Jam's Jazzy Jellies packaging plant and pulled his duffel bag from his shoulder, and that was when Stiles began to think about the abundance of abandoned factories and warehouses in Beacon Hills.

Stiles unzipped his duffel bag and began pulling the pieces of his rifle out.

He understood that businesses often went bankrupt and all that, but why weren't the old buildings ever repurposed?

Stiles started assembling the pieces, making short work of the steel jigsaw puzzle.

It was really just a waste of space. Also, all the creepy, hollowed out buildings had to be bringing the neighborhood's property value down like a ball and chain in the Pacific. Anywho, the city really ought to draw up some plans to reutilize the buildings, or maybe just tear it all down and start from scratch. Beacon Hills could finally have an amusement park, or a water park, or a-

Stiles set the rifle on the ledge of the roof and put himself on his stomach behind it.

All his errant thoughts froze in flight and fell away. He moved his aim to a shattered window of the Sally Keen's Kitschy Cough Syrup warehouse and waited.

 

"I know you're excited, but I need you to focus."

That was a hard request, but Stiles tried his best. His father was giving him something; something special to him. He wasn't quite sure what it was exactly, but it was important to his father, and he hoped it would be important to him too. He wasn't sure what he would do with it, but he hoped it would change him, make him someone of whom his father could be proud.

"I need you to understand that this isn't a game. This isn't like laser tag or any of those video games you play. Once you shoot something, it's not getting back up again. Do you understand?"

Stiles nodded, eyes locked on his father's chin.

"Don't ever point a gun at yourself."

He nodded again. His father hadn't shaved that morning.

"Don't ever point a gun at another person."

He tried to meet his father's eyes.

"And once you pick up a gun, don't you aim unless you intend to shoot. You understand?"

"Yes, dad."

"That's my boy."

And then his father was pressing a handgun into Stiles’s hands and helping him hold it steady. He felt something change when he lifted his hands up, pointing the gun straight at the target down the range, but he wasn't so sure it was something he could ever share with his father, or something that would ever make his father proud.

"Remember-"

"I know."

 

The air was muggy and the bark was rough and wet where he was pressed up against a tree.

There was a buck up ahead, head lowered to the dewy, forest grass.

"Aim for a vital area." His father's voice was quiet and warm in his ear, "Make it quick and painless."

Stiles felt a breeze on his face, reassuring him that they were downwind. He couldn't actually smell the deer, but he liked to imagine he could. Damp musk rolling off a hot body, wafting on the air toward him. 

Stiles steadied the crosshairs.

"Remember-"

"I know."

 

There. A light turned on in the Sally Keen's Kitschy Cough Syrup warehouse. 

Stiles shifted the rifle slightly, bringing his face closer to the scope. There was a man, a hunter, standing in view of the window. His mouth was moving, but Stiles had never really invested much time into lipreading. He assumed it was something along the lines of “I’ve got you now, my pretty, and your little dog too!”

Sweat and gunpowder blew down from upwind. Stiles took the smell in with a deep breath.

_Don't ever point a gun at another person._

He brought the man into his crosshairs.

_Make it quick and painless._

And pulled it down to the man’s leg.

"Sorry, dad."

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this on Halloween 2015, and it's just taken me a year to get around to posting it.
> 
> A special thanks to my mother for being my beta on this piece.


End file.
